“You need to—”
“What are you afraid of? I’ve already destroyed the whole compound,” Spark said. “And besides, look at me: I’m shot. I’m not about to go murder half the city. So just relax, okay?”
Caleb slowly returned the needle to his bag. “I guess I could use the light,” he muttered as he pulled out a needle and thread.
Sparks crawled backwards. “I don’t need that. Just leave me activated. It’ll heal, okay?”
“It’s a gun wound. You’ll bleed out.”
“I’m not bleeding anymore.”
“It’ll open up again as soon as you try to move too much, believe me.”
Reluctantly, Sparks lowered his arm and let Caleb examine the hole in his side. He flinched as Caleb prodded it. “How bad is it?” he asked.
“You’ll live. Doesn’t look like the bullet pierced your lung.”
“I figured that,” Sparks said sarcastically between clenched teeth, “because, you know, I’m still breathing!”
Caleb probed the wound more forcefully, a smile curling on the edges of his mouth.
“Ah! I take it back!” Sparks gasped. “Your medical judgment is genius, and I will never question it again. Just stop fucking touching it!”
Caleb reached back into his satchel, this time pulling out a small bottle. He unscrewed the lid and Sparks smelt the distinctive aroma of whiskey.
“Perfect.” Sparks moved to grab the bottle. “I could use a drink.”
Caleb shoved his hand away, then promptly upturned the bottle and poured its contents onto Sparks’ wound. It stung. A lot. He locked his jaw shut, fighting the urge to scream. His squirming hand closed around a hunk of metal. The steel slowly bent as his grip tightened.
After what felt like an hour, but was probably seconds, the pain subsided enough for him to talk. “What the fuck was that for?”
“Had to wash the wound.”
“That’s what the rain was doing, you moron.”
Caleb just grunted. He poured the last of the whiskey over his own hands, then picked up the needle and thread. Hunched over Sparks, he used his bulk to shelter the wound from the rain while he worked. Sparks grimaced as the needle bit into his tender skin. For once, he almost regretted being activated — being so alert made each stab of pain so much more piercing, more real. He checked the stitches in his arm, groaning when he realized they had pulled out. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against a slab of concrete, trying and failing to find a comfortable way to sit while he waited.
“Don’t you have to pull the bullet out?” Sparks asked.
“Stupid idea. Most of the time, it does more damage than good. We’ll remove it later, once we have the proper tools.”
“Oh.” Sparks shuddered at the thought of having to go through all this again.
“Hurry up,” he said as Caleb finished with the bullet hole and moved onto the gash in his arm. “If you rush this, we can still make it to the Haven.”
Caleb shook his head. “We’re not going. We’ll meet the others back at the Mutt’s Tail.”
“No. I can do this. It’ll take more than a bullet to stop me.”
“I said we’re not going.”
“But we—” Sparks stopped himself, deflated. Realization hit him. “We were never going to go there, were we? Roman didn’t want me near the Haven.”
Caleb kept silent.
“Damn it!” Sparks threw the hunk of metal he had been holding, as hard as he could, into the darkness. “You’re still a crap liar.”
Caleb shrugged. “Never really practiced it.”
“Well, I hope the old man dies,” Sparks spat. “He deserves it.”
He swore he was going to punch Roman in his ugly face when he saw him again. What had he ever done to make Roman hate him so much? Nothing! And now, he had even got shot while helping Roman. Once the old man gave Sparks his own adrenaline needle, he was going to—
Something sharp jabbed him in the arm.
“Ah!” He flinched. “Shit, be careful, Caleb. That was—”
He looked down to see Caleb withdrawing a defoxican needle.
“What the hell did you do that for!” Sparks shouted, scrambling to his feet. Caleb backed off. The hammering in Sparks’ chest quickly faded, leaving him feeling hollow, numb, dead. His light dimmed, then vanished completely, sending the world around him to darkness. “Activate me again!” he demanded. “Give me the needle, I’ll do it myself! You can’t say no, Roman promised that if I—”
“I’m sorry, kid. But not yet.”
Sparks went still. “Roman lied to me, didn’t he?” he said slowly, quietly, the truth of the words sinking into him as he said them. “He tricked me into this.”
“Listen, Sparks. I trust you,” Caleb said, voice coming from the darkness in front of Sparks. “You’re a good kid. You’ll get your own needle, I made Roman promise. But not yet, you’ve just got—”
“Shut up!” Sparks’ hands balled into fists. Even deactivated, he felt his heart beginning to pound again. “You don’t trust me, no one does.”
“I do. But Roman—”
“I don’t give a fuck about Roman!” Sparks yelled, stepping forward. The wound in his side ached, stitches threatening to pull apart with each step, but he kept advancing.
“He ordered me to—”
“Shut up. You own me, not him. He can’t order you to do shit. Why did you let him lie to me? Why do you even follow him in the first place?”
“He’s a good man. Better than most.”
Sparks eyes began to adjust to the darkness and he saw the form of Caleb backing away, arms raised defensively. He knew he couldn’t overpower Caleb. Not wounded, deactivated, and missing this much blood. Still, he moved forward, fists raised, not caring about the outcome. “You agree with him!” he roared. “You think I’m a monster too? I’ve done everything you’ve told me to. What did I do wrong?”
“Calm down, kid. I don’t think that—”
“For the last fucking time, I’m not a kid.”
Decision made, Sparks turned and bolted away, limping as fast as he could over the rubble. He tried to retrace his steps. Slipping on a stone, he splashed into a puddle and grazed his knee. Caleb followed him, but his heavy footsteps weren’t rushed — he obviously didn’t think Sparks had a chance of getting away.
“Don’t make me do this,” Caleb called out.
Sparks ignored him, regaining his feet and moving on. The outline of the fallen tower loomed just ahead. He dashed for it.
“Shit,” he muttered, realizing this wasn’t the spot. Careful not to step on any of the fallen wires, he moved down the length of the tower, searching. Caleb’s footsteps grew louder.
“Come on, Sparks. Stop now and I won’t tell—”
Sparks picked up a loose chunk of broken concrete and hurled it over his shoulder. It hit Caleb with a heavy thump.
“You little bastard!” Caleb’s footsteps sped up.
Desperate, Sparks moved closer to the tower. There! The corpse of the militia who had shot him, one wire wrapped over his chest, another around his leg. Sparks dropped onto his hands and knees, crawling forward. A large hand grabbed his ankle.
“Let go of me!” Sparks kicked and squirmed, but Caleb’s grip held him like a manacle.
“What are you trying—”
Sparks pulled himself forward, fighting against Caleb’s grip. He reached out, arm protesting as he stretched it as far as he could. His fingers curled around the gun lying at the dead militia’s side.
He spun around, aimed the pistol in the air, and fired.
The gun jolted in his hand, sending a fresh wave of pain down his arm. His ears were ringing. Caleb’s hand released his ankle and he slowly backed away.